


May I Offer You a Hand in These Troubled Times, My Friend?

by LynchAdam



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canonical Character Death, Drug Use, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, M/M, Multi, Ronan Lynch-centric, Sexual Tension, Violence, adam is barely in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27015451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynchAdam/pseuds/LynchAdam
Summary: So this was slightly inspired off a tumblr post about ronan and gansey holding hands during his tattoo, and for a friend who wanted it. but it's also a snapshot of some relationships/sort of pre-trb set right after Niall's death. It's got some mild rovinsky undertones/references in it, and some implied ronsey. So yeah I would write fluff but I may (?) be incapable of doing so at this point.
Relationships: Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch, Richard Gansey III/Ronan Lynch
Kudos: 14





	May I Offer You a Hand in These Troubled Times, My Friend?

It was a rainy Tuesday evening, evidence of the downpour still clinging against Ronan Lynch’s torso, as he slammed open the door to Monmouth Manufacturing. The pungent smell of alcohol, sweat, and vomit rolled off the young boy in waves, Richard Gansey wrinkling his nose in distaste. A cum stain streaked across his tank top, pointedly removed moments too late, although Gansey averted his eyes in a rigid sense of politeness. 

“I won,” Ronan mumbled, teeth clattering in the chilled air. The heating unit was under construction, meaning Gansey had not even called about installation quotes. Mid-November’s bitter wind cut through the gaps and thin insulation their new home had to offer after years of abandonment. Gansey thoughtfully got up from his desk, padding over to Lynch with his Aglionby crew hoodie. He watched the other boy gratefully slip it on, pink cheeks and goosebumps adorning his face and chest. 

“You won, what?” 

Ronan snorted. “The race, Gansey, what  _ else _ ?” 

“Watch your tone, Lynch.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He watched as Ronan attempted to march like a soldier toward his bedroom. With the amount of intoxication flooding his system, it looked more like a drunken singer attempting to stagger up to a microphone, if he could only remember where he put the microphone or even a hint of the first song’s lyrics. Ronan Lynch artfully slammed face-first into the wall above Gansey’s desk. Gansey’s desk was in the complete opposite trajectory of the boy’s bed. Sighing, the older boy walked up behind him, taking Ronan’s thin wrist in his hand, guiding him to his own bed. Ronan whimpered as he stripped him of his gasoline saturated jeans and massive combat boots. The other boy had nothing on beneath his jeans and Gansey flushed bright red when Ronan’s bare groin ended up very close to the boy’s nose. Ronan hardened and Gansey squeaked in shock, righting himself instantly. 

“Gansey, I had no clue you were so eager to see me naked,” Ronan snorted afterward. 

Gansey rolled his eyes, placing both hands on Ronan’s chest, smirking before shoving the boy onto his bed.

“Ecstatic,” he muttered while tossing a down comforter over his body. “Sober up,” he chided even though the boy had already begun to snore. 

Ronan Lynch woke up with Gansey’s hoodie on at 5 AM on a Wednesday. He had nothing else on, and Richard Gansey had likely abandoned his eagerly awaiting bed, after another night of sleeplessness, for crew practice half-an-hour ago. He racked his brain, trying to remember how he had even gotten to Monmouth. He vividly flashed back to punching Prokopenko directly in his ugly nose, Kavinsky chuckling darkly as blood spewed from the nostrils, as Skov poured vodka over Ronan’s head screaming  _ Mazeltov _ . Several hours later, here he laid in Gansey’s bed, considerably dry and warm. 

On his nightstand, his phone clattered and hummed. Ronan picked it up apprehensively, his phone buzzing with an incoming text from Gansey. 

_ Ronan dont be late for homeroom, we need to talk.  _

Ronan groaned, stretching his aching legs out from beneath him before making the trek to the shower. 

Miraculously he managed to put together a half-attempt at the school uniform and shove five pieces of white bread down his throat before arriving at Aglionby at 6:30 A.M. The only time he’d been here this early was when K and he had fucked in the back seat of the Evo after a night of drunken stupidity landed them in the school parking lot. Slamming the door, because he always had to slam everything, he sauntered in through the back door of the pool room where he knew Gansey would be.

Sure enough, Gansey was rowing half-naked, Ronan whistling and cat-calling. Sighing, Gansey put the oars down. Ronan ended up by the other boy, sitting on the edge of the pool, he was still wearing Gansey’s hoodie. 

“I saw an urgent command to show my face, so here I am dicky-dick.”

Gansey arched an eyebrow, a disapproving glint in his eye as he gave Ronan a once over. The other boy stood up, abandoning the rowing to hit the showers. 

“Where’s the rest of your sex slaves?” Ronan mockingly stated. 

“I cut them early, practice was adequate. I’m hitting the showers,” Gansey responded. The emphasis on the second sentence stated that Ronan was not invited. Ronan followed regardless, turning on the shower heads as they passed. Gansey turned toward him. 

“Are you planning to watch me shower, Lynch?” 

  
  


“Why were you hoping for someone else to watch,” Ronan snickered. 

“Not everything is a joke,” Gansey began to lecture, loosening the sweatpants and subsequently kicking them off his ankles. Ronan narrowly avoided looking to the side while Gansey removed his briefs, and the awkward sort of state where he  _ shouldn’t _ look but desperately wanted to look at the naked boy in front of him flooded his body. It’s not like Gansey didn’t know he was sleeping with Joseph fucking Kavinsky. It was the humiliation of the knowledge that Gansey of all people, knew he was taking the older boy’s dick up his ass on a regular basis. It was a dark sort of a shame that he wanted to be hidden away, not displayed for his best friend to dissect.

Noah noisily clamored into the shower room, yelling knock knock. Glancing at Ronan and Gansey, his eyebrows disappeared into the messy hair tangling above his forehead. 

“Am I interrupting something,” Noah seductively supplied, slapping Ronan’s back. 

“Of course not,” Gansey replied tersely, turning off the shower and heading to the locker room to change. 

Ronan stood there, hoping that neither boy would notice the erection straining against his jeans at the sight of Gansey naked. He shook it off, telling himself it was a natural reaction to seeing  _ that _ . 

“Thought you would still be slumming it with Proko- _ pen _ -ko at this hour, Lynch,” Noah quipped light-heartedly. 

“I gave up on those train-wrecks hours ago,” Ronan snarled. He didn’t like Noah’s jokes either. Noah flushed, shaking it off as Gansey cocked his head toward the exit. 

  
Time for homeroom. 

Gansey pointedly assured that Ronan chose the seat next to him this morning, much to Kavinsky’s dismay. Ronan leaned over toward the other boy’s head, Gansey glancing at Kavinsky’s smoldering glare before starting. 

“Ronan -”

“I’m getting a tat, after school, today, wanna come?” 

Gansey widened his eyes. It’s not like Ronan was scared or anything. Okay, maybe he was a little scared of a needle jabbing into his back for a couple of hours and maybe he wanted Gansey to come so he wasn’t alone. So sue him. 

“Are you being serious?” 

“Appointments at 3:30.” 

“Fine, but you’re okay right?”

“Dandy,” Ronan replied automatically, standing up to signal this conversation was over. To emphasize his point he wolf-whistled until Kavinsky invaded his personal space, grinning as if he won the lottery. 

“You know Lynch, I think you broke his nose last night.” 

“I’ll break yours right now,” he cooed innocently. 

Kavinsky cackled, blood leaking from his white nostril, coating the white crystalline structure of cocaine ringing it. 

“Listen, K, I don’t really want to see you anymore.” 

He heard a sharp intake of breath from Gansey, watched Kavinsky’s eyes narrow into unappealing slits.

“What did you say, fag?” 

“You heard me,” Lynch frostily replied. 

“I should force you to your knees right now,” Kavinsky hissed and a pulse of pleasure ran down his spine at the thought of it. 

“Is this an appropriate conversation to have in homeroom,” Adam muttered low enough that only Ronan heard. 

Skov ended up behind, his cologne giving him away before Ronan saw him. 

Kavinsky sneered, stalking off, Skov shoving Ronan aside to chase after the older boy. The stupid ass would probably get slammed against a locker, but then again, he also knew the younger boy wouldn’t complain. Ronan refused to chase after Kavinsky, but the boy would undoubtedly finish the conversation with him at some point.

Ronan was not doing well, exactly, in fact, he wasn’t even sure if he was doing okay anymore. Two weeks ago his father’s brain chunks were splattered across his driveway and two weeks ago he had a fight with Declan that was so volatile he hadn’t heard from his brother since. Declan had coldly stated he was done with Ronan for good, but of course, Ronan also knew that Declan would never be done with him. It was only a matter of waiting. And while he was waiting, he decided to do things that Declan would hate. 

Step 1: Get piss drunk every night. Step 2: Fight in homeroom. Step 3:? Step 4: Get a tattoo. Step 4, A: A huge tattoo. Step 4, B: Use the credit card he swiped from Declan’s wallet at Lunch yesterday.

The only complications with his plans were the most obvious: Kavinsky was not a good person to rattle for entertainment, Matthew’s existence. 

A point in case: Bathroom, between sixth period and the sweet release of freedom that the seventh-period study hall offered him. Joseph Kavinsky banged open the door to the bathroom because really, Ronan was the only other one at this God-forsaken Academy that would do it. A point in case: Ronan’s feet being distinguishable in the stall. Joseph Kavinsky went into the stall next to him. He wasn’t sure what for, until the boy knelt down, and began to presumably snort cocaine off the toilet seat. 

Ronan could have, should have, would have kept quiet except he wanted to get this show on the road. 

“Isn’t it a little early, K?”

“What the fuck are you doing Ronan, shitting? Get out.”

Seldom has Kavinsky told him to leave, and there’s an obvious reason he is right now. Ronan’s made him feel an emotion that strangely enough, only Ronan has been able to claw out of the older boy: shame. 

A point in case:

“Look, Lynch, I need this,” followed by another fat snort. 

And Ronan almost made a sex joke, until he heard the first sob heave its way out of Kavinsky’s chest. Another followed, and now, Ronan felt deeply ashamed at the fact he had to make the boy feel even worse than he probably already did while snorting coke off a fucking toilet seat. 

Nonetheless, a third sob wreaked its the way through Kavinsky’s fragile rib cage. Ronan had two choices: to stay or go. He was torn between it because on one hand: fuck Kavinsky, but on the other hand, he felt some unreasonable emotional attachment to Kavinsky that could only have been a product of their shared depravity. 

“Why don’t you want to see me anymore,” Kavinsky asked in such a fragile voice that Ronan feared no matter what he said would shatter him, “Is it because of the coke?” 

Ronan accidentally snorted, because he seriously couldn’t believe out of all the possible problems, this is ironically the one Kavinsky-the-coke-addict saw. 

“Please don’t leave,” Kavinsky whispered.

“Kavinsky,” Ronan started but then found himself lacking words, “I’m already gone.” 

He knew how much he’d hurt the boy, but he couldn’t bear to witness the aftermath, so he finished one last swig from a flask he’d borrowed from Skov ages ago. Then, he tucked it into his hoodie and left the bathroom. 

He told himself that it was right to break Kavinsky now before he had the chance to be broken later. And in a weird way, he knew Declan would be ecstatic, in the same way he knew Matthew would be disappointed in him. 

He was ashamed of himself because he was so much worse than Kavinsky’s coke habit. Step 3: Break a boy’s heart. 

After school, he waited for Gansey to drop Adam off at work before both of them left for his appointment.

The older guy who worked at the tattoo shop, appeared nice enough, asking what exactly Ronan wanted. Ronan pulled out the sketch of a dream he’d had. The dream had been all ravens, and feathers, a black depth, blood, Celtic knots, regret, and self-hatred. The man smiled awkwardly asking once more if he was sure, and he nodded, getting into the chair like he was straddling a man’s thighs. Gansey could not remotely approve but he heard him scrape up a chair. 

“This will be a couple of weeks I mean -”

“I want it all now.”

“ _ Now _ ? It’ll take hours, and it’ll be painful man. If you stretch the process out over -”

“I don’t care, finish it all today or I’m not paying you.”

The man doesn’t even look at him, he looks at Gansey as if he has the final say, which to be honest is true. 

“Do what he asks,” Gansey replies. 

So he does. And the man is right, it’s painful but he holds himself still. Gansey grimaces and after a few minutes, he reaches a hand out toward Ronan. Ronan takes it, not because he needs it or anything, but it feels really nice. 

Gansey doesn’t act like it’s weird, and in comparison to everything they have done together, hand-holding isn’t the most awkward but it’s definitely the nicest. 

Eight hours later, his deepest anxieties embedded into his skin, he steps outside to the night. 

He raises his arms above his head, palms up to the frosty air. 

“I’m free,” He yells out into nothingness. 

Gansey calls him a moron and kisses him. Ronan kisses him back. This definitely feels as nice as holding hands, maybe a little better.

**Author's Note:**

> yes i know the tattoo would take longer but ronan's dumb and i always thought that was how he did it lmao


End file.
